Digger’s eyes were wide as he looked upon the foreign structure before him. It was like nothing he had ever seen in his hundred and ten years of life. The surface of the crumbling building felt more of melded stone and wood than anything pieced together at the city. Removing the paper, he used to map out the area, he drew as best as he could to capture the location. Blue would want to see this! Placing the map back into the satchel, sounds of screaming caused his attention to turn toward the commotion. They were drawing closer and so Digger ducked behind the structure just as another elf crashed through the brush. He was not alone as a large paw, about one foot in length, with 4 inch claws gripped the screaming elf and pulled him back. More screams were heard before the sound of crushing bone then silence.

The Chosen Scriptorian stood behind his desk, his dark brown eyes peering out from behind the red leather and bone mask upon his face, his lip curled into a sneer as he listened to the reports from the Knight Commander of the Flame. “All the preparations for the festival are in place, Chosen. I have knights assigned to different posts and a few slaves selected as tribute.” The knight commander shifted a bit uncomfortably under the unyielding gaze of the cult leader as he continued. “They shall be prepared and ready for your inspection shall you feel so inclined.”

Glendathiel used to be the site of Elven worship until foreigners from far off lands came to settle in the belief of a better life. The elves, for obvious reasons, did not welcome the outsiders and many bloody battles ensued. This was more than 300 years ago, the beautiful elven structures nothing more than rubble and ruin. Theroniniquitous, the mighty red dragon, has long kept Glendathiel under his claws, ever since winning the requisition and, through the cult leader known only as the Chosen Scriptorian, has allowed trade between realms. Theroniniquitous hopes, through this, that his power will grow and that his influence will become unmatched.